


The Mask of a Boy

by FloofeyMarshmallow



Series: Scratches and Scars [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fighting, Mentions of past self harm, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 09:25:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4216341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloofeyMarshmallow/pseuds/FloofeyMarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was Dean, really? Wasn't he just the buffer in John and Sam's lives? Just keeping them from killing each other? Well, he was quite sick of that job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Sam, for the last time, you can't just not hunt with us!" John shouted. This fight had been going on for the past hour. Sam didn't want to hunt, John wanted him to.

It had been like this ever since Sam turned fourteen. When he was nine and first found out about the supernatural, he had wanted to be just like his big brother, and was a bit scared. He wanted to learn how to protect himself, but John wanted to wait until he was a little bigger and had some more muscle to be able to do things like swing a machete or fire a pistol.

That day hadn't come yet, but when Sam hit fourteen, John decided that Sam needed to learn whether he was big enough or not. The scrawny kid had been going through training the Winchester style for the past few months, and he hated it.

Sam wanted to play soccer, John wanted him to learn how to bow hunt. Sam wanted to make friends, John couldn't keep them in one place long enough for him to.

Dean had to hear all of it.

"I hate hunting! It's stupid and useless!" Sam shouted back to his father.

Dean wondered when John was going to learn that yelling was never the way to make Sam calm down. He needed more coddling and less screaming. Then again, John was the same way. He wondered if that's why they fought so much.

"It's not useless! It's going to keep you and your brother alive!"

Dean did everything he could to be like his dad, and yet it seemed that Sam was more like him than Dean would ever be.

"But it's gonna _kill you_  one day!"

Dean listened to his music, he wore his clothes, and even drove his damn car. He still couldn't even match up to the amount of likeness to John that Sam was.

"All I care about is keeping you and your brother alive!"

"How is introducing us to guns and knives keeping us alive?!"

"It's _protecting_  you!"

Dean heard the slam of the door as John stormed out. Probably off to a bar to get a drink.

He also heard Sam slam himself onto his bed. Dean heard whimpers, and knew that Sam was so physically upset that he was trying to hide the fact that he was crying into his pillow.

"Hey," Dean said softly after he approached Sam, who as he thought, was crying in his pillow.

Sam made a mumble that sounded somewhat like, "Leave me alone."

"I'm not gonna leave you alone when your gonna ruin our deposit by crying on all the pillows," Dean joked. He sat on the bed beside his little brother, rubbing the teen's back as he cried.

"I wanna have a real life."

"I know you do, Sammy," Dean said. "I want you to have a real life too."

"Really?"

"Really," Dean said with a nod. "I want you to have a wife, kids, the white picket fence. All that stuff sounds good."

"Don't you want those things?"

"Nah, that life isn't for me," Dean fibbed. He desperately wanted out of this life just as much as his brother did. "But you - you're just like mom. She was really happy with all that stuff, and I know you will be too."

Dean wasn't going to tell his brother that he was more like their father than their mother.

"Thanks, Dean."

"Anytime, little brother."

Dean stood from his brother - who was much happier - walking into the bathroom and staring at himself in the mirror.

He saw the lies all over himself.

_What good are you to this family?_  Dean thought to himself. _It isn't like you do anything but be a buffer in dad and Sam's lives._

Dean sat on the toilet lid, reaching into his pocket and pulling out one of his hunting knives.

He raised the sleeve of his - father's - leather jacket. The scars there were obvious on his pale arm.

He pressed the knife down onto his skin.

He glided it across.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam eventually forced himself out of bed and walked toward the bathroom. He thought Dean was watching television, but frowned when the door was locked.

"Dean?" Sam asked. He received silence. "You better not have fallen asleep in the bath again." Because, yes, Dean sometimes still took baths for the fun of it, and he _had_  fallen asleep in the tub before.

There was still no answer. Sam could clearly see light shining through the cracks of the door. Had Dean decided to climb out of a window in there and sneak off to a rave or something?

"Dean?" Sam asked once again. He was still given no answer. He begun to panic slightly. He wasn't left by himself was he? "Dean, open the door." John walked into the motel just as Sam was ordering this, and noticed the panic in his youngest son's voice.

"What's going on?" John asked.

"I-I don't know; Dean won't open the door," Sam said. They were both worried - their earlier fight was forgotten.

John walked to the bathroom door, knocking on it roughly.

"Dean, I order you to open this door right now," John ordered.

They received no answer.

John pushed against the door, managing to break it down easily. He was more concerned about his son than the security deposit.

"Sam, get in the car," John ordered when he saw his son in the bathroom. He didn't want Sam to see what John had just seen.

"Is Dean in there?" Sam asked.

"Get in the car!" John barked.

On the way out, Sam caught a glimpse of what his father was trying to keep him from seeing.

Dean was laying on the tiled ground of the bathroom, blood pouring from his wrist. John bent down, knowing he wouldn't be able to stitch this up in time. He needed to get Dean to the hospital.

Sam hurried himself to the car while his father took care of his brother.

John carried Dean from the bathroom floor where he was waiting to die, carrying him to the impala and putting him in the backseat. John was glad Sam decided to sit in the front seat. Dean needed the room in the back to slump over.

When they reached the hospital, Dean was immediately admitted.

John sat in the waiting room, and arm around Sam, waiting for results for hours. He swore they were just keeping them in suspense for the fun of it after an hour. He had stitched people up before, he didn't think it took that long.

But John never stitched up anything on the wrist.

Finally, a doctor came to see them.

"He's in stable condition, Mr. Smith," the doctor said when he first walked over to John and Sam.

"Oh, thank god," John breathed in relief. He was so glad that his son was alive somewhere in the hospital.

"Has your son ever had problems with depression, Mr. Smith?" the doctor asked.

"Not that I've ever noticed," John answered. "Sammy, have you ever noticed anything?"

Sam shook his head. "Dean's always so happy."

"Why do you ask?" John asked.

"Your son has scars on both arms and on his thighs," the doctor answered. "It's obvious that this isn't the first time he's harmed himself. This probably wasn't a suicide attempt. This was most likely just him going too far in harming himself."

"Are you telling me that my son hurts himself for pleasure or something?" John asked.

"It isn't like that," the doctor said. "Usually when teenagers self harm it's due to stress or anxiety, and it comes in many forms. Teens bite themselves, pick at their skin, cut themselves, and do many other things for a form of relief from an intense situation."

"So he's stressed?" John asked.

"Probably," the doctor responded. "Has there been tension at home or school?"

"Um..." Sam trailed off.

"Yes?" the doctor asked.

"My dad and I have been fighting a lot," Sam answered, eyeing John carefully.

"He's at that age where he wants to argue through everything," John said. This wasn't untrue, it just wasn't the whole truth.

"Is Dean often caught up in these fights?" the doctor asked.

"He comforts me when it's over," Sam said. "And sometimes he breaks the fights up."

"I see..." the doctor trailed off. "Well, Dean's under medication to keep him asleep right now. He should be awake by morning, and then you can talk to him about everything, but I do recommend therapy."

"Why?" John asked.

"Just to keep the tensions at home to a minimum; it usually helps self harmers if they can talk to someone about their feelings," the doctor explained. "It makes them feel less like they need to hurt themselves to feel relief.

"I'll think about it," John said. They could use fake insurance to get therapy, but that didn't mean they were going to stay in the same place long enough for Dean to actually benefit from it. "Can we see him now?"

"Yes, I'll take you to him." The doctor lead the Winchesters to Dean's room. John sighed when he saw his son laying in a hospital bed with bandages wrapped around his arm. "When he wakes up, he might not be all the way there. Try to let him rest for as long as possible." The doctor then left the room.

"Dad, why did Dean do this?" Sam asked. "He never acted like he was stressed about anything...He was always good."

"I don't know, son. I don't know."

* * *

 

Dean had to fight the heavy feeling to wake up. He heard the constant beeping of a heart monitor that he wanted to stop, and was fighting his way through the darkness to turn it off.

When Dean awoke, he saw that it was light outside of the hospital window. He looked down at his arm to see the bandages, frowning. He didn't know he'd cut deep enough to end up in the hospital.

A look to the side showed him that John was sitting in the chair beside his bed sleeping. Sam was curled up on the couch by the window, also sleeping.

Well, they knew now, didn't they?

When Dean started to get out of bed, John stirred a bit before opening his eyes.

"You're awake," John said softly, as not to wake up Sam.

"Yep." Dean looked down at his lap in guilt and shame.

"Dean, I have to ask you; were you trying to kill yourself?" John asked. "The doctor said this was probably just...hurting yourself gone wrong. Was that what this was?"

Dean sighed. "I wasn't trying to kill myself."

"You were just hurting yourself."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Dean hesitated. "I...I don't know," he fibbed. He knew perfectly well why he did it. Sam and John _always_  fought, and Dean was _always_  torn in the middle. He didn't want to choose sides because he loved his family, yet Sam always wanted backup and John expected him to be the perfect son.

"Well...we're gonna get you some help," John said. "Okay?"

"You mean a shrink?" Dean asked. "Dad, I don't want anyone to poke and prod at me."

"If you don't want a therapist, you could always just talk to your brother and I," John said.

"I can't do that."

"Why not?" John asked.

"Because you're my family," Dean answered. "You'd get offended or something if I said the wrong thing, and I'd have to pick everything I say super carefully."

"Do you do that now?"

"...Yes."

"Dean," John started. "You're my son. I love you more than anything on the planet - besides your brother - and anything you say to me won't change that."

"It won't?" Dean asked.

"Of course not," John said with an inappropriate laugh at the accusation. "Your brother tells me he hates me all the time, but I still love him. You telling me anything won't change the fact that you're my boy, and I love you."

"...Okay, I'll talk to you."

"That's my boy."


End file.
